Stay
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: "Some secrets," She breathed over the steam from her mug, watching the rain leave trails down the foggy window with hollow eyes, "are dark enough to drown you. No matter where you run, how good you think you've hidden," her voice grew quieter, "they'll find you and shatter everything you've built, leaving nothing behind and nothing to hope for or—" Her eyes met his "—to hold onto."
1. Chapter 1

1

Razor's Edge by Digital Daggers

_Hermione Granger would've done excellently in Slytherin_, thought forty-eight-year-old Severus Snape as he stalked into the NEWT level potions class of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His sharp, hawk eyes swept across the classroom, over the dunderheads stumbling over a simple Dreamless Sleep draught, until they landed on the curly-haired girl. Her head was bent, all her concentration focused on her glass stirring rode. He stared mutely at the graceful curve of her wrist with each stir.

_She's the only one worth teaching_, mused Snape as he watched her. He'd seen over her for six long years, since she was an obnoxious, nerdy, spindly little girl to a curvy, intelligent and brave young woman.

He stalked the room, barking out the deduction of points to Gryffindors as he went. "Miss Granger," he drawled, stepping close and inspecting her potion. Pure perfection as per usual. "Five points for Gryffindor for class disruption."

She tensed and he could hear her heart beating fast, words piling high in her bruised throat but all she replied with was a subdued, "Yes, sir." She stirred four times counterclockwise, at the right time intervals exactly, and the potion turned pink.

"I'm worried 'bout her," Weasley said quietly as he and Potter waited for her after class. "She's so quiet now, it's like she's lost her voice. And her grades are _slipping_! 'Hermione' and 'grades slipping' shouldn't even be in the same _sentence_, mate."

Snape was surprised that Weasley actually had the mental capacity to pick up on Hermione's suddenly subdued nature. "She needs time, Ron," sighed Lily's son, catching his lower lip between his stark-white teeth. "What she went through…it takes time to recover from."

"That Bellatrix…" Weasley began but Snape dropped the book he was holding purposefully to remind the little brats that she was still there, as was he.

Everyone was quiet for a moment and then he heard it: the short, labored breathing. "Miss Granger needs to make up a test," he said calmly to the boys, turning his dark stare to Lily's eyes. Understanding dawned in them and, as Weasley filed out of the room with a call of Brown's name to catch her attention, Potter mouthed, 'Be good to her.' He turned his eyes to Hermione's figure, which trembled slightly, and Snape felt a wave sorrow and anger for her.

Potter closed the door behind him on his way out, dipping his head in acknowledgement to Snape. Snape bowed his head in reply as the door clicked shut. "Miss Granger," he said quietly, walking closer to her trembling body. "Miss Gran—"  
"It hurts to breath, did you know that? My mouth still tastes like blood and vomit sometimes. I can't close my eyes without seeing her—feeling her fist collide into my face." He slid closer, robes billowing slightly and she rubbed her eyes. "Miss Granger," he repeated, firmly but gentle.

"I can still hear the laughter. It was loud, very, very—" A short sob broke out of her lips as her hands traced the bruises on her neck, fresh from Bellatrix's spiteful, bony hands. Her fingers nails scraped against the skin, drawing little red, flaky lines that welded up with beads of blood.

"Miss—" He stopped when he saw the tears drip down her face. "I hate being weak, stuck in the memories," she whispered after several long heartbeats. "I hated every second of that beating, not because it hurt but because I couldn't do _anything_ about it." She let out a soft sniffle as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

He got a good look at her face then, as she looked back at him. Her eyes were haunted and ringed with dark circles from cruel, sleepless nights; her skin was pale like parchment and bruised from the attack; her hair, once luscious and curly, was brittle and dull and tangled, a mess from not caring about her appearance.

She was thin, thin like he'd been during the end of the war, with a bony collarbone and stick-thin arms and legs, the picture of an anorexia nervosa victim, her ribcage pressing against her shirt, every bone showing. She looked like if he pushed her or brushed her, she'd shatter. She reminded him of glass. She reminded him of his frail grandmother, who was a very nice but sarcastic woman.

"Miss Granger, I know how you feel," he said quietly, keeping his voice low and soft so as not to spook her. Her eyes cleared a little bit. "I've dealt with nightmares for my entire life. From my broken childhood—" Her eyes were growing clearer and he realized that opening himself up might be what will bring her back. "—To the day I took the Dark Mark to the day I double-crossed Voldemort."

She slumped into a seat. "Being an Legilimens helps. I can block things out…for a little bit." He bit his lip as he glanced up at her passed his long, long hair.

She was staring at him, fingers steepled against her lips, a spark in her eye. She looked a little bit better. She certainly needed to eat and get her hair brushed out. He stood up and pushed back his chair; he held out his hand to her, showing sincere kindness.

Her brown eyes, scared like a doe caught by a hunter, stared up at him and he felt a pang, a wave of fear crash over him and it took him a second to realize that was an echo of _her _pain. He knew the feeling, knew all too well what she was going through: the guilt, the anger, the embarrassment, the fear, the shame.

She felt guilty because she couldn't have stopped the beating; angry because it had happened to _her_ and she knew how to defend herself; embarrassed because everyone knew and stared at her like she was a monster; fear that it would happen again, the fear of being hurt like that again; ashamed being bruised up and hiding behind baggy clothes.

"Come on, Miss Granger. Let me buy you something to eat," he said softly and her hand shyly brushed his. He ignored the hairs standing on end at the contact and guided her out of the chair.

_This isn't a date_, he told himself firmly as he locked up the classroom, being as it was the end of the day.

_Yeah, _sighed his conscious with a snigger, _this _totally _isn't a date with a gorgeous woman who needs our support. _


	2. Chapter 2

Stay

2

The Red by Chevelle

The little café he picked out was cozy and warm, a welcome relief from the cold rain outside. Hermione huddled, breathing in the steam peeling off her drink. Snape sipped his scalding coffee and shivered as it slide down his throat.

"What's wrong?" he asked, steepling his fingers and resting his mouth on them. His eyes stared at her frizzy hair. "Why'd you do this?" she countered almost immediately and then she averted her gaze, staring down into her tea. "If you're looking for tea leaves," he drawled in an attempt at a joke, "you won't find them. They use tea bags here."

Her eyes flickered up once, thick eyebrows furrowing, before she went back to her staring contest with the bottom of her mug. "Miss Granger," he said, "if you want to talk—"

"No." Her tone was short, clipped and robotic. Her eyes were growing wet under the lights. Hastily, she wiped at her eyes but not before he saw a lone tear streak down her cheek. "Thank you for the dinner," she mumbled, hunching her shoulders.

She nervously fiddled with the edge of her sweater, never pulling it away from her wrist. Her eyes darted around. "Miss Granger, why are you here? You don't seem to want to talk."

"I enjoy your company. You don't look at me like I'm a horrible person. You don't gawk at me like I'm some freakshow in a circus," she told him quietly, taking a sip of her tea.

Snape hummed to himself, a score from Phantom of the Opera, and he saw Hermione smile. "Something humoring you, Miss Granger?" he asked amused. "That song…" Her raspy voice faltered slightly.

"It's from Phantom of the Opera," he finished. "You know it?" "Know it, I-I memorized it!"

They fell into silence then. But it was comfortable silence; Snape contemplated asking her what exactly happened and Hermione sipped her drink in silence. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

He gripped the edge of the tabletop until his knuckles turned white. "Miss Granger, if you ever need help, you know where to find me." He slid her a card with his mobile number on it. She nodded and gave a watery smile. "Professor?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

"Will you walk me home?"

She was reaching for her bag when he answered. "Of course, Gryffindor Princess."

oOo

He walked her to her apartment in Muggle London. It was a tiny but cozy studio she shared with Millicent Bullstrode, who turned out to be quite the Mother Hen when it came to her roommate. The minute Hermione opened the door; Millicent tackled her in a tight hug.

"Where were you? You never called me and, what with the incident and all, I thought you'd be more nervous, more cautious! Oh, you're going to catch a cold dressed like that in this weather—oh!"

"Hello, Miss Bullstrode," he said calmly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. Millicent went beet red and then scurried away, leaving the teacher and student alone. "I'm sorry about her, Professor," Hermione laughed, her cheeks bright red with a blush that looked delicious on her.

Snape shrugged. "It's okay. Can I tell you a secret?" She nodded. "Lucius was just like Millicent when we went to Uni together," he said. "He put a tracking charm on me!"

"Really?" Hermione murmured. "I pictured him as the 'stay out all night partying' type of guy. You know, those devilishly handsome guys that just fool around all the time." They fell quiet again. "I went to Muggle school because my father made me," Snape explained, "and, well, what he said was law. As far as my mother was concerned and so she sent me off to Muggle school. It wasn't that bad, actually. I knew things that most Wizards didn't."

He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels a little bit; he felt like a child talking to his crush. Hermione wound a loose thread from her sweater around her finger. "Up until I was eleven, I went to Muggle school, too. My parents didn't even _know _about Hogwarts until my letter came in," she mused, her eyes glowing with the memory.

"At school, I was known as the Frizzy Haired Girl or Beaver because of my buck teeth. My parents are dentists and they didn't want me to get surgery to fix my teeth. I reduced the size after Draco hit me with that tooth-growth hex." Snape scratched the back of his head. "I didn't mean what I said, Miss Granger. About me not noticing the difference."

Hermione blinked and then turned her eyes back to the ground. "I know." Behind her, Crookshanks slinked out of a hallway and stopped, staring straight at Snape. "Hello, Crookshanks," the Potions Master greeted the cat like an old friend.

The cat's yellow eyes eyeballed him with distrust and then, much to Snape's surprise, sidled up to him, butted against his legs until Snape scratched behind his ears and then padded away. "He normally hates most men that show up at my doorstep."

"I'm not most men, Miss Granger." Hermione smiled. "That's debatable." Her fingers tightened on the doorframe.

"I should get going," sighed Snape after a quick glance at his watch. "It's a school night and I have work." She nodded and then, as he was walking down the hallway, said: "Thank you."

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

Her head poked out. "What kind of guy would I be, if you and I were in University together?" Her mouth twitched. She reminded him of her old self, not the dead girl sitting in her body for the last couple of weeks.

"The cute kind who always has his nose in a book." She gave him a little smile as he inched away down the hallway. "The kind I'd probably ask out," she finished as he pushed open the door to outside. He stopped. "Really?" he asked.

She met his eyes. Cinnamon met tar. "Yes, really," she said and her door closed as Snape stepped into the cool, drizzling night.

So, Hermione Granger would've asked him out had they been in University together, he mused as he waked home with a bounce in his step and Phantom of the Opera scores echoing in his head.


End file.
